


Let’s talk about life

by Nightgirl317



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, John and Sherlock are really good flatmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-08 15:34:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15246414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightgirl317/pseuds/Nightgirl317
Summary: John and Sherlock are trapped in a cold room. They get hypothermia, and to avoid sleeping and therefore dying, they talk to each other...about life.Set before the fall.





	Let’s talk about life

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first fanfic, so it might be horrible. Also, English is not my first language, so there may be some mistakes. And I tried to do British English and failed, so if it's weird, I'm sorry.

John opened his eyes, and the first thing he noticed was how cold the room he was in. The next thing he registered was Sherlock, awake and alert, next to him.“They knocked me out,” slurred John. “why didn’t they knock you out?” Sherlock snapped his head toward John. “Oh, good, you’re awake.” He rubbed his hands together. “I pretended to be unconscious. I needed time to text George and I figured they wouldn’t take my phone while they were busy fighting you."          

”John groaned. That was such a Sherlock-y thing to do, using John as bait to finish a text. “You bastard,” John grumbled. “and it’s Greg, you don’t have a friend named George.” He sat up straight, for the first time trying to understand the situation. They were in some kind of basement. And it was cold. Sherlock shifted next to John. 

“Talk,” Sherlock muttered, his voice weaker than usual. He quickly added, “about anything. I’m not entirely sure about you, but I don’t want to die of hypothermia. So start talking before you sleep and die.” John nodded as best as he could with a pounding headache. “Quick question then: why do you forget Greg’s name but remember my name and Anderson’s? Greg complains about that, you know.” He grinned in spite of himself. Sherlock looked mildly surprised. “I never knew he cared. And anyway, he’s always in the background. Anderson and Donavon manage to annoy me, but him? He’s there, he’s nice, I don’t have any reason to insult him. As for you, John, you have an easy name to remember, and I need to text you. I’m pretty sure you’d be too pissed to help my cases or bring me coffee if I mistake your name.” John snorted. “Please tell me that’s not the only reason you bother to remember my bloody name.” He shook his head. His vision was getting fuzzy, and he was starting to feel drowsy. Maybe if he closed his eyes for a second… “JOHN!!!” Sherlock half-yelled. “Stay awake or we’ll both die. Tell me something embarrassing. A secret you’ve never told anyone before.”

John could tell Sherlock was getting desperate. He fought to keep his eyes open. “If I told you my embarrassing secrets you’ll tell someone else. You tell me yours. I promise to stay awake if you do.” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Um...Mycroft used to carry around a teddy bear with him at all times until he was 15. Said he couldn’t function without it.” He paused. “Actually, he used to call the teddy bear a ‘her.’ Guess her name.” Sherlock was grinning. Weakly, but Sherlock was nonetheless grinning. John grinned back, too. At least Sherlock seemed fine. Most likely cold, but still alive. John frowned. “Shelly? Sarah? Bella?” He guessed randomly, knowing he’d never get it right. Sherlock’s grin widened a little as he replied : ”Anthea.” John chuckled. “Seriously?” Seeing Sherlock’s nod, John continued. “Do you think Mycroft actually looked for a woman named Anthea or was changing your name to ‘Anthea’ a requirement to be a secretary for the most important man in England?” The two flatmates laughed quietly for a bit before they fell silent again. Sherlock mumbled, “Now your turn, John, you can’t refuse now.” His voice sounded too sleepy for John’s comfort, so he tried to think of something interesting. “My middle name was supposed to be ‘Sherrinford’. Apparently my mother and father argued about it for a week and Dad nearly filed for a divorce. All because of my middle name.” John had to say the words slowly. His mouth was getting too cold. 　

“Mmmhhhh.” Sherlock slurred. His eyes were closed, and John felt panic rush over him. “My…. sister. I’ve never told you about her.” Sherlock’s eyes peeked open. Feeling relief wash over him, John continued. “She’s an alchoholic, like you guessed when we first met. She’s divorced.” He fell silent for a while. “You know, it’s really funny. All those times we nearly got killed - I think of her first. And then all the other people in my life. But Harry and I’ve always fought. We can’t spend 30 minutes in the same room without fighting, and I always thought it’s weird I think of her because I obviously love all the people in my life right now more than Harry.” John sighed and leaned back on the cold wall. “I’m sure Harry loves her ex-husband more than me, and that’s saying something.”

Sherlock’s eyes opened, and it was then that John realized Sherlock’s eyes had been closed. How did he not notice that? John pondered over the question lazily. His thoughts kept wandering, and John realized he felt warm. _I feel warm and fuzzy_ , John silently mused. He had a sudden urgency to chuckle, but the urgency to stay awake and sane stopped him.

“No.” Sherlock piped up unexpectedly. “Harry comments on your blog. Have you ever noticed she does that? Always, John. On every single story you post. As you would notice if you pay attention, she always sounds a bit worried when you post a case where you nearly got hurt. She’s worried about you not finding a love interest, by the way. In fact, a little after you started the blog and started writing about me she sent me an email asking if I was romantically involved with you and that if I’m just a friend to please help you find someone.” After saying this at an incredibly fast speed, Sherlock’s eyes closed again. John sat, stunned. He’d never thought Harry cared. In fact, he hadn’t talked to her in person for a long time. Maybe it was time to change that. John sighed again, and murmured, “Mycroft cares too.” Sherlock sat up, his eyes confused. “He tolerates me. He isn’t exactly the caring big brother type, if you’ve noticed. I assume you’re feeling all warm and fuzzy, but that’s because of hypothermia. Mycroft doesn’t care about me. Well, maybe he does, but England probably comes first.”

“First, you have hypothermia too,” John accused. “Two, next time you get hurt and end up in the hospital, pay attention to the people who visit you. Mycroft is always the first visitor and and he’s always the last person to leave. Oh, and he makes me join him for fish and chips at the cafe downstairs every Thursday and asks how you’re doing. He cares, and there’s no way you’re rebutting this.”

Sherlock opened his mouth to argue but stopped when he realized the door had opened. Lestrade came down the stairs. “John, Sherlock, when will you ever stop giving me grey hair? Mycroft’s gonna be pissed when he learns you got hypothermia. Honestly, why couldn’t you have texted you like a normal person, Sherlock? It took ages to decipher your text.” Sherlock glared a Lestrade. “Just get us out of here.” he snapped.

After John and Sherlock were fully recovered and went back to Baker Street, they never talked about being stuck in the cold basement or the conversation they had. But the boys never looked at Anthea the same way, and John introduced Sherlock to Harry - in person. (John had to spend ten minutes explaining he was “not gay, for fuck’s sake, Harry!”.) Sherlock was a little nicer to Mycroft after that, even pouring him coffee when Mycroft had to come to Baker Street (it was “lukewarm and absolutely disgusting”, but still.)

Maybe getting hypothermia with a flatmate wasn’t the most terrible thing in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still new at fanfics, but if anyone has any requests, I'd love to write them!


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